


A Budding Bilgewater Bond

by JackJohnJackson



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Developing Relationship, F/M, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:35:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27450577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackJohnJackson/pseuds/JackJohnJackson
Summary: A series about the blooming relationship and mental recovery of Bilgewater's brutal Botlane duo. Contains themes of trauma, mental illness (Or however you'd describe Pyke's condition.) and addiction.
Relationships: Miss Sarah Fortune/Pyke
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

Even within the early hours of night, the lower levels of Bilgewater were bustling with movement, but stagnant and quiet between it’s people. Merchants moving their wares inside and closing their storefronts, dock workers and fishermen, lowlifes and ruffians alike, all on their own way to taverns, brothels and hovels they would call home for the night. No matter their destination they all moved inwards towards denser parts of the island city, away from empty workplaces and the violent waves. The general flow of citizens walking inwards was disrupted by a single person, sprinting and shoving aside any in his way through the paths, heaving and panicking, occasionally receiving a push or blow in return but recovering from any stagger and continuing his mad dash to seemingly nowhere.

A gunshot rang out across the moonlit alleys, a shriek of pain the sign that the bullet found its mark. The scattered passersby reacting with curious turns towards either sound or continued nonchalance at the event, the more experienced and aged the denizen, the less of a reaction. Bilgewater’s alleys were no place for those unaccustomed to violence and bloodshed, and the appearance of Miss Fortune rarely hailed anything but.  
The scattered sounds of objects being crashed against the rock-paved paths became more distant from where Fortune was, with a heavy sigh she holstered one of her beloved dual handguns and retrieved a low-burning oil lamp hanging from her belt. With a turn of a small lever the bare glow from it turned to a brighter diffused flame, the orange light reflecting off fresh spilled blood along the smooth path. Slowly but steadily she strutted along, following the red trail right to her quarry.  
"On the prowl tonight, Fortune?" A gravelly voice called out from an unseen corner towards her, distracting from her focus on her hunt. She held back annoyance through gritted teeth and an inwards sigh.  
"Always am, not for anything you can offer though!" She responded in her usual fronted voice, cocky, flirty and sharp, perfect for getting attention and keeping it.  
"Aye, good huntin’ then." The voice could've belonged to any number of potential cat callers, ones Sarah was either acquainted with or not. But now wasn’t the time or place for her to be looking for any potential fun. The faceless offer was rapidly forgotten by Sarah, this chase was becoming nothing short of angering for her and added to the beginnings of an alcohol deprived headache. Following the strewn blood marks was tedious but effective for tracking down the more inexperienced and flighty targets of hers, ones who thought only of running away instead of treating and hiding sounds or turning to fight.

“Just gotta catch this little rat fucker, then you can get home and have a nice long drink Sarah, you deserve it after this.” Self made promises kept her going along the path. Paved and smoothed down rock pathways turning to well aged and decaying wood as her obnoxious quarry made his retreat to the old forgotten docks, useless to nearly any denizen of Bilgewater, too small and aged for its original purpose of docking and too open to even serve as a meeting place or home for seedy groups that thrived down on the lower levels. Getting closer to the ocean however led to the salty sea mist growing thicker, rendering her lantern trick useless in it’s midst. Hooking the lantern back onto her belt she drew her second weapon again taking a moment to flex her hands and revel in the comfortable and familiar feeling of the paired guns in each hand.

“Come on out Derek, you can't get away and I haven't got all night.” Her demand sounded more tired than her intended threatening, instead of the either expected silence or desperate rush at her she stood and listened close, any sudden movement on the decrepit wood would create enough noise to give away wherever he was hiding. The surrounding mist seemed to grow thicker as she waited, the salt beginning to sting her eyes and mouth. Sarah grew impatient and walked further along the length of the docks, squinting to try and see any shape hidden in the mist along the wooden lengths that reached out into the black moonlit sea.  
Instead of finding her target at the end of one of the docks however, a stifled whimpering caught her attention. She almost sighed in disappointment once she followed it to the source, a collection of decayed and broken timber and barrels piled against a wall, clearly thrown together in a hurry from the surrounding debris. She aimed down at the pile and tapped her boot against the softened wood. The dull thump was enough to signal to the hiding man he was obviously cornered.  
The man leapt out from his hiding place towards Fortune with a desperate wail. His foot caught on one of the pieces of Bilgewater's past he used to disguise himself leading him to fall face first into the dock platform. This time Sarah did sigh, her annoyance and frustration reaching a peak looking down at the man below her. Face tarnished with filth and matted, dirty blond hair enough to give her a general idea she was after the right person.  
Derek Fuller was a lowlife even for Bilgewater standards, a small time thief, not worth the acknowledgement from any would be law-bringer if he didn't make the critical mistake of killing his attempted pickpocket marks, who just so happened to be the rebellious daughter of a Noxian noble making her trip outside home country. The girl turning on him and drawing her own weapon was enough to cause Derek to act. A simple moment of panic led to a dead Noxian girl, a furious noble and an easy payday for Miss Fortune. The only catch was the bounty calling for him alive, surely to allow for far worse punishment than death could provide.  
He scrambled below her looking for his knife, he saw its blade glimmer in the moonlight but as he grabbed it an explosion rang in his ears and a sharp pain scattered up his body. His other leg now shot as well he screamed and thrashed around on the ground clutching his shot limb.

"Get up, I'm not gonna carry you to the damn bounty office." She accentuated her point by tapping his side with her boot. Holding back serious temptation to give him a proper damaging kick.

“Fuck you!" His voice cracked from fear and pain, staring up at her, even in the thick sea mist from here she could see his sharp ratty features tears streaking through the filth caked on his face. She had hunted down so many harder and more deserving targets than him, but none had such a disproportionately large bounty. He was an easy fifty silver serpents, enough to fuel her luxurious lifestyle for at least a few weeks. She still couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment though. As she reloaded mindlessly solely focusing on the idea of getting home and treating herself, she didn't notice his whimpers of pain and fear stopped and replaced by stammering and eyes wide with fear.

"OK, OK, I give up just take me away! NOW!" His words were spat out as fast as he could, he scrambled closer to her on mangled legs and grabbed at her coat in desperation. The feeling of him pulling down was enough to draw her attention, kicking him away he fell on his back and held his hands up in surrender.

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! PLEASE! WE NEED TO GO!"

"Then get up! Waiting on you here, scumbag." Fortune was growing more and more annoyed with Derek. Desperately trying to raise himself onto injured legs his muttering grew faster and more panicked as he flicked his head around. Sarah, figuring his paranoia on a drugged or pain induced panic, mostly ignored his pleas until one of his cries caught her attention.

"Oh god, he's here, he's coming please save me, just take me away from here!"

"WOULD YOU SHUT- wait, who's here?" As sure as she was about his panic being mostly artificial his referral to someone specific did catch her attention.

"THE RIPPER, JUST PLE-" His pleading was cut short as he went slack jawed and wide eyed looking past Fortune at the empty length of dock behind her. A shaky hand raised and pointed to where he was staring. Sarah was hardly one to fall for look-away tricks but his fear seemed genuine, she levelled one of her guns at the sad sack below her and turned her other weapon and face towards where he was pointing. Her eyes narrowed and focused through the stinging salty mist.  
A darker shape was visible in the mist, its silhouette lit only by the moonlight except a small, but bright blue light emanating from near the top of the mass. The wood underfoot creaked as the shape lurched forward. Then another creak, and another, slowly and gradually growing closer until more details were visible from the minimal light around it. Sarah shook her head, re-focusing on the shape, it was at least human, she hoped, the blue light coming from it's eye and illuminating what caught her ire, a red bandanna across it's face. A distinct sign and trademark of the leftovers of Gangplank's followers. In anger she turned both guns towards the shape and opened fire. The hand-cannons blowing the surrounding mist back from her as slugs and shot spewed from her weapons, their roar echoing across the empty ocean drowning out any ambient noise of the bustle from the nearby alleys and splashing of shallow waves pressing against the shoreline.  
As the smoke from her guns dissipated Fortune chuckled to herself, the shambling person was nowhere to be seen. She figured he was blown clean away by her barrage, but her self congratulatory thoughts were cut short by a panicked scream from behind her. She snapped around to see Derek pulled up by his tattered shirt and the bandana wearer behind him. A feeling of sudden sickness and imbalance passed through her, leaving her stunned for a moment just staring at what was happening before her.

"KILL ME! PLEASE JUST KILL ME DON'T LET HIM TAKE ME-AUGHHH!" Derek was wailing, a miserable and honest wail; pain, fear and desperation far beyond anything he was complaining about before. A rope was looped around him, a hook at the end of it being plunged into his flesh holding it in place. His screams of pain continued as he was pulled along by the person roughly walking towards the ocean side of the dock. Realising her potential pay was being taken away from her, Sarah snapped out of her confusion and worked on reloading her weapons, searching in her coat for something she hoped she still had.

"HEY! Like hell I'm going to let some wannabe boogeyman take my payday away, come back here!"

"You're next..." The voice that spoke back to her cut deep into her psyche, spoken as if it was right beside her, it was factual and spoken with all the seriousness of a knife already to her throat. Rapidly realising the potential danger she was in Fortune moved with a re-found purpose and speed. She found what she wanted in her coat, a small wax-paper packet containing blessed powder and silver shot, a remnant from the harrowing she held onto in the event of running into the undead again. She loaded it into her gun and snapped it shut, making sure it was the first barrel loaded. She broke into a sprint towards them, keeping in mind she had only one chance to either kill it and take back her bounty, or at least give her enough time to run away. No easy cash was worth dying here but fifty serpents made it worth a shot.  
From behind, she could see it's back was covered by a cloak, blocking her ability to get a clear look at it. She could tell it was about halfway to the edge of the dock and had a gut feeling it'd be bad to let it get there. Closer now, she levelled her gun without the silver shot at his centre of mass and fired, it rolled to the side to avoid the hit dropping the rope that held onto the whimpering man below them. Fortune dashed forward, putting herself between him and the attacker, keeping her eyes squarely on where the shape dodged to. Whatever it was it was starting right at her as well, the glowing eye made that clear as it turned from blue to a dark red. It drew a blade from behind it's back, around the size of a short sword but wide and jagged edged, its most standout feature was a dull green glow however.

"I said. YOU'RE! NEXT!" The last two words were accompanied by lunging slashes towards her, easy enough to backpedal from but she could tell they weren't proper attacks, an attempt to push her back away from Derek. The wide slashes opened an opportunity for her to aim the alternate gun at it, without hesitation she pulled back on the smooth trigger, silver glittering dust was suspended within the gun smoke, reflecting the moonlight washed over the dock. Confident she hit her mark she couldn't contain herself making a quip alongside a cock-sure smirk.

"Sorry but, I'm not one for taking turns." Her expression however soured once she saw the lack of effect the shot had. It had surely hit but the target wasn't dissipating into black mist or igniting into turquoise-green flame as she was accustomed to with what undead she had encountered. Instead, it still was crouched before her with violent intent. "What the hell are you?" Her question was met with a charge from the figure, raising her arms in a defensive posture didn't help with it's large frame crashing into her from below, an elbow driving into her centre toppling her backwards and winded. She regained enough breath and focus to look back at where it was, she expected it to be stood over her ready to strike down but instead it was back near where her target was tied up, grabbing the rope around it before heaving Derek onto his shoulder, more rapidly moving towards the sea. She tried to call out in an attempt to get it's attention again but a lack of air left it as just a wheeze. Her time to get him was over, she had to focus on her own survival now. She had to bite down on her lip to keep her anger contained as she could clearly hear the sound of something, presumably Derek, falling into the ocean.

It turned silent, a deathly unnatural silence. The stirring of alleys and people.  
Gone.  
The wading of the tide lapping against the docks.  
Gone.  
The cries and whimpers of the deadbeat target.  
Gone.  
All that remained around Fortune was the dense fog wallowing around her. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. She scanned around herself, looking for any indicator of the attacker. Nothing. Still biting back anger to the point of being near tears and with the metallic tang of blood beginning to form in her mouth, Fortune had to admit the loss and fight another day. She took a quick mental note of her remaining shots, two in each gun. Even if they didn’t have a direct affect on it, they served both a distraction and source of security for Sarah. Keeping her eyes flicking between different points of the ocean and docks, she took a shallow step backwards. Her heel dug into the rotted wood, a moment of noise, a wet creaking squelch. The green blade shot out from the mist and with a dull thunk landed between her legs stuck into the same wood plank her foot sat on.  
Sarah snapped her eyes upwards along the rope attacked to the blade, seemingly coming straight out of the wall of fog until the slack of the cord pulled taut and the knife snapped backwards into it, as if opened by the return of the weapon the ocean mist shifted and warped, the shape manifested and lunged out and began dashing towards her. She figured she had a fair few seconds before it was close enough to hit her but it was closing the gap rapidly nonetheless. Sarah took a quick potshot at it, noticing that this time there was a jerk backwards in its movement but continued its rush. If it can be hit, it can be killed Fortune thought to herself levelling the other pistol towards it.

The attacker was getting closer, she fired her second shot but found no impact as the shape hit lower to the ground, rolling under the shot and launching off its landing seamlessly. Whatever it was, was far more nimble than she was expecting for something of its size. Close to within striking distance the figure slammed it’s foot down into the wood, a dull thump indicating the weight of the impact, and launched itself towards Sarah knife overhand ready to strike down into her. Within the last moment before it crashed into her Fortune raised both guns and let loose her last two shots directly into the mass. The shock of the bullet enough to disrupt it’s jump and leave it landing just short and to the side of her but the blade struck down deep enough into the wood that Sarah was sure it would’ve been a lethal blow.

Closer now, she caught a quick glimpse of her assaulter in the limited light from the moon and the figures glowing eye, The red bandana was marked with sharp white lines, whoever and whatever it was was covered in a tattered coat and pants, knotted rope with hooks across it and, as much as she would’ve preferred not to notice in the moment a bare body underneath the coat. The bandana however was enough indicator it wasn’t one of gangplanks men, marking his signature wear would’ve been considered mutiny. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not at this revelation though. A guttural growl rose from the figure as it worked to jerk it’s weapon out of the wood. Sarah took this moment to backpedal away from the figure. She didn’t want to get slow herself down from getting to the dock entrance but running directly away she figured would just lead to being run down, she needed a distraction or some way to buy time to reload or get away without it following. A booted heel knocked against some of the wooden debris from Derek’s sad hiding place, she stopped her movement for a second and looked down. From their earlier exchange there were several strewn apart patches of debris, cracking it under her boot to verify it was dry rotted wood she moved to grab any larger parts from the remaining pile and threw them in a rough line across the dock.

“Captains, pirates, always schemin’, always runnin’. The crouched figure had risen up, staring directly at Fortune now. It’s voice had shifted from the cold, sharp tone from before to a more human tone, not an unfamiliar accent and sound to Her, it was deep and intimidating, speaking in a way that sounded like it was taunting her, confident it had her backed into a corner. The only thing standing out was a gurgled, warped sound to it, as if it was speaking from below the water. “You’re all the same, that’s why. No. More. Captains, no more captains, no more-” It was quieting down, devolving into muttering and warped words to itself, glowing eye shifted downwards and around aimlessly as it shambled forwards towards Fortune.

“Yeah well, got a hell of a surprise for you there.” Sarah had to stop herself from quipping out loud, waiting and watching them. As sneakily as she could she holstered a pistol and moved to draw the lantern from its belt hook. The motion didn’t go undetected though as the figures eyes snapped towards her hand, then down to the strewn debris across the dock. Realising her plan, the attacker moved to dash towards her again but Sarah was ready; holstering her other weapon as her free hand drew the lantern, she twisted the level to max giving it as much of a flame as it could before raising it above herself and slamming it down at an angle. Glass and oil scattered away from the impact carrying licks of flame with them. The old dried wood caught quickly from the splashed fuel across them rapidly spreading to create a knee-high wall of fire between the two. The figure pulled backwards from it’s sprint and stood straight before the fire.

“HAH, Hows that for a scheme ya’ bastard!” Sarah lauded over her success with a wide smirk and crossing her arms. With the light from the flame she could get her first clear look at her attacker. “Huh, shit.” She couldn’t help from remarking, half from surprise and half from disappointment in a way, where she expected some kind of undead monster or otherwise magical being it was surprisingly normal at face value.

A large dark-skinned man, easily standing a head or more over her and with the bulk to match. His bare arms bore tattoos across them and several paler scars were visible across his skin. She was right from her first glances in the light, instead of a pure red bandana his was marked with stark white lines in the shape of wicked thin teeth across it. The jaw of something Fortune was unsure she wanted to visualise adorned his shoulders accentuating his height and imposing figure they looked as if ready to snap close at any moment while a large collar was the only thing that parsed between them and his head. Closer now she could see his coat was more than just tattered, it looked in a state of bare repair with ropes tying it to the jaws not clear which was holding onto which. Other strands of rope and cord held hooks and medallions across his body. A sash and belt wrapped around his midsection adorned with more metal ornaments, large haggard boots and pants visible below them.

It wasn’t just her observing her enemy, the man looked at the woman for the first clear time as well. Long scarlet hair tied back into a tight braid rested over her shoulder reflecting the yellow light of the fire. Just as red lips pursed together in thought and trepidation while unclear eyes locked with his own, watching for any movement or indicator he was about to move. His eyes moved down to investigate any other weapons or tools she held, but was caught onto her appearance. A clean and regal looking white and gold coat framed her body and tied around the waist, a jagged frilled corset underneath it with a wide window for the exposed top of her chest, normally a valid distraction for any would be enemies or a temptation for others. Striped pants and thigh-boots adorned her lower body while puffed arm pieces and long leather gloves held her arms. Other buckles and accessories scattered across gave her an air of beauty and importance, but what caught the mans attention the most was a gilded tricorne hat atop her head. Large and gaudy, unnecessary and flashy. It was a captains garb.

“Captains...always captains.” The man growled with a renewed anger, shifting his blade to a backhanded grip and crouched forward. The flames between them had grown higher, burning more of the wood than oil now.

“Hey I wouldn’t recommend that, those flames look pretty hot.” She chuckled to herself thinking of her next taunt. “Don’t worry, you’re not the only one to get burned chasing after me, first like this though!” In her gloating she didn’t realise the sea mist gathering around him again until there was a blurry jerk of movement forward and she noticed where the man stood was a ghostly apparition of him, realising where she’d seen this before she quickly dropped and rolled to the side before the misty phantom snapped forward to where she was standing a moment ago, with the large figure right behind where she was. As she scrambled to get to her feet however he jumped down on her, bending her arm back behind her and pressing down into a hold. Her held pistol knocked out of her grip, her hat was knocked off her body as she could only twist her head to the side to look up at him. Glowing eyes red with fury and knife poised ready to be brought down on her.  
Sarah’s mind was blank. Everything she’s done, everything she’s worked towards and this is how she was going to die. On an abandoned dock, killed by someone she’d never met before, completely alone. She stared up silent but defiance in her eyes, there was no point in physically struggling, he had her completely pinned.

“Maybe you ain’t a captain, they put up more fight, or throw their crew to the depths first.” His words were spat out in hatred, eyes wide staring down at her. “But here y’are, no crew or anything to hide behind. Just a filthy PIRATE-” With the last word screamed, he brought the knife directly downwards to her.

“HUNTER!” Her mouth moved before she could think, but it seemed to work. He stopped midway through the attack. Completely still like a statue. There was an uncomfortable silence between them, eyes locked. One frozen, the other pinned down. After what felt like minutes to Sarah’s adrenaline fuelled self, he broke the silence.

“Speak.” His voice had returned to a normal cadence, no altered sound or elements to it. Deep and smooth but still cold and spiteful.

“What?” Fortune was truly stunned at why he stopped, completely unsure where to go from here.

“Hunter what?” He moved his face closer to hers, hissing out the words.

“I’m a pirate hunter you dumb-ass” her curse was met with increased tension on her arm hold, sending more pain up her limb.  
Damnit Sarah, maybe don’t taunt the ass-hole with a knife to your throat. She chided herself over her choice of words and carefully chose her next ones. “I’m not a captain, I’m not a pirate. I. Hunt. Pirates.”

“Why?” His voice had a tinge of confusion to it now, she figured she at-least had a chance to make it out of here playing along, and decided it was probably a bad idea to point out how stupid a question that was. Probably.

“Money, fame, respect, you know the usual suspects.” He wrenched her arm more, forcing a grunt of pain out through her demeanour. “OK fine! I’m not a big fan of pirates, or captains, either.”

“So you go killing ‘em for money? How’re you any different? All after greed and riches.” His words turned accusatory again. Holding back any overly emotional responses, she thought for a moment while held down, he was waiting for a response.

“Just the bad ones, I look for who’s got rumours or records about them.” Bending the truth a bit was something she was used to, technically even the now gone target of Derek had a criminal background, the lie padded by the fact most people in Bilgewater did.

“So.” He released a bit of pressure from her bent arm, looking back up through fuzzy eyes the red glow of his eyes had reverted back to a bright light blue but still equally staring through her. “What did he do?”

“Killed a girl, she was innocent.” Still the truth, mostly. It returned to an awkward silence between them, he seemed to be judging her, despite her best logic she decided to speak up.

“So, why did you kill him?” A direct question, should’ve been easy enough but it seemed to strike something in the man. He pulled back pressure from her arm further and went back to looking around away from her.

“He was there, watched me drown, cut the line...” His grip loosened up enough that Fortune was able to shift her arm out of his hand, pulling it back to herself but still pressed down by the knee in the small of her back. “He was. Wasn’t he? They were all there.” He wasn’t talking to her, he didn’t seem to be talking to anyone, not even himself just words spewing forward with lost meaning. “And you, you were there too...” he snapped his eyes back down to Sarah who had been working on wiggling her way out from underneath his weight. “Hmm. no. no that’s... hunter...” more confusing words as his gaze wandered upwards, somehow the less attention to her he was paying, the more worried Sarah was getting.

“Hey, can I, y’know, move a-” her sentence was cut off by the blade slamming down next to her head, right in front of her eyes. the noise of it cutting deep into the word sent a new wave of fear down her spine.

“Name. And no lies.” His words had returned to focused on her, she gulped back the that froze up her throat.

“Fortune. Sarah Fortune.” The green blade retracted from the wood, as did his weight from her back. Given the chance she scrambled away from him picking up her dropped items and turning back to look at where she almost died. Catching her breathes in rough heaves the man was just standing there, looking around to the ocean, the docks, past where Sarah had recovered to. And then, wandered off down towards the docks towards the dense mist he came from. Fortune wasn’t about to waste this chance though as she rushed off back towards the alleys of lower Bilgewater.

Sarah didn’t stop on her path back to her home. No spare moments to look back or think about the events. Her sole focus was getting back to safety, but that focus and feeling alone was deeply upsetting to her, a feeling of danger and fear she hadn’t felt for many, many years and had no wish to relive it. Everything was a blur to her, the path back home, any greetings or cat calls cried out all vanished as she blanked out her thoughts. Before she even realised what had happened, she snapped back to reality slamming her door behind her.  
She set her pistols down on a central table with shaky hands, and once her prize possessions were down, all the reality and emotions of the night came slamming back into her.  
“FUCK. FUCK, FUCK, FUUUUCK!” With each curse, she slammed a balled fist down onto the tabletop, each strike shaking the glass bottles atop it. Her screams were ear-piercing and she was glad she lived mostly separated from other residents of Bilgewater. She roared again, grabbing a bottle and shaking it, empty, she threw it against the opposite wall shattering and spreading glass that would become a problem for another day. Another bottle, the same reaction, and again until through streams of tears she found one half full. It didn’t matter what alcohol was in it, she swung it bottoms up and downed whatever was left. She was angry, upset, fearful. She felt cheated out of her prize, and scared for her life then left to what her thoughts figured was pity all within minutes of each event. What made her the most upset, was the feeling that she gave up, she was ready to die there and didn’t even fight back, opting to plead and reason like a coward would. The feeling that his words might’ve been right about her not being different from the trash she prided herself on cleaning.  
“FUUUUUUUUUCK!” She could feel her throat going hoarse from the cries, the burning of the alcohol adding another level of pain to the entire ordeal.

“I’ll find him, and I’ll fucking rip him apart.” Violent fantasies played through her thoughts as the booze began to take effect, she stumbled over to a chair she found herself sleeping in more often than her bed recently.

“I’ll kill him, string his body up for the rest to see.” Her vision was spinning, she fell into the chair unable to maintain her balance. She knew her levels of drinking and tolerance, it wasn’t long until the alcohol would do the sleeping for her.

“I’ll show them, you don’t cross the Captain.” Before she completely blacked out; she caught note of her thoughts and realised just what she was wanting. And who she was sounding like.

“No. I’m not him.” She slurred out loud to herself, just as an attempt of self reasoning to let her sleep.

A crashing banging against her door snapped Sarah out of her deep drunken sleep. As her eyes fluttered open waves of pain washed over her. A sharp headache from the drinking and dehydration, a dull ache from her hands and where her body had been slammed and hit against the ground. The banging on the door hardly helped with any of it as she staggered upwards already feeling the hangover. Muttering ow’s and ouch’s to herself she made her way to the door leaning against the frame for a moment to catch herself. In the midst of getting there she hadn’t even considered who would even be here at this time of night, it was still dark so she figured it wasn’t long since she got home. Before she could finish taking a few breaths in the door was being slammed again sending fresh shocks of pain through her skull. She grunted and swung the door open, being met with a fuzzy vision of a bare chest.

“...Oh.” Her attempt to close the door back was met with it being slammed back open by the figure standing outside her door. Wincing from the sound she looked up and saw what she figured, the man from earlier stood there looking down at her. “Well, if you’re gonna kill me, get it over with.” She slumped back with a fresh feeling of defeat but was met with a piece of paper being shoved into her chest instead of the expected knife.

“You wanna kill captains, you’ll kill this one. A fishing boat, The Merry-Man, will leave the slaughter docks south side two days from now at dawn. Be there or you’re after him.” The man spoke his instructions clearly as Fortune scanned over the piece of paper. It was something she’d seen many of, a bounty paper, the first thing to catch her attention was the two-hundred serpent bounty. But the second was the target, a Captain. Captain Elroy, not one she’d have any political or moral issues killing but it was still a lot to absorb at once. Looking back up for answers she found the figure already walking away from her at a brisk pace.

“HEY! Wait up a second!” Words fell on deaf ears as he continued to walk away. “Gimme a name here ass-hole!”

“James Elroy.” He spoke back, Fortune rolled her eyes.

“Not his, yours.” This time he stopped walking away and looked back at her, narrow blue eyes staring her down.

“...Pyke.” One word and he continued to walk away, Sarah figured it was about as much as she would get, sighing and closing the door behind her as she walked back in.

She walked back to her chair, a bit more stable than when she got up. Setting down the piece of paper he had pushed onto her next to her pistols she fell back into the chair staring upwards.

“...Pyke, huh?” She mused to herself as she drifted back to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2, exposition and headcanon galore, and the last for now until Ruined King. Either going to rewrite or restart with whatever comes from that.

The wretched scent of alcohol lingered in Pyke’s nose as he walked away from the hidden away house. He wasn’t sure why he was here, why he came here, and mostly why he didn’t kill the woman when he had the chance. Her name was familiar, but so were so many others. Names with blurred faces and memories of them, too many names to go through. But, her name was on his list, his blind goal written upon an unending scroll. Even with the door opened in a literal sense he didn’t bring his blade down on her, shoving a bounty paper he found on the way there into her hands instead.

He stopped, turning his head upwards and thinking back, how did he get here. There was the sound of a body falling and sinking; another person, then fire, rage and blood. It was all faint and blurred except for her,why was she standing out. Nothing was clear to him, it never was. He shook his head and smacked it on the side a couple of times as if to try and dislodge the fog covering his thoughts. Thinking harder, what happened next. He left her, then followed. He remembered her words of being a hunter. He had seen scraps of paper on a board, for hunters to take as they wanted. They had names, names he knew. Names that were listed. She could help him. Why did he want help? 

The next memory, a crushed piece of paper with his target on it, James Elroy, he was there. Another captain now, another to kill. He knew where he was, an island a days trip south from the slaughter docks, with scraps of coin a fisher would take him. How did he know that? As he caught himself on that question his head rocked itself with a sharp pain, moving on. The paper had a value on it, money, she would want the money. Leverage.

Next, he was at a door in an unfamiliar place. Looking out he could see it was high above the sea, more than seeing it he could feel it, he was far from his territory. Moving forward, he racked against the door again and again. It opened and there was the woman. Red. scarlet red hair stood out to him first. Her mouth was moving but whatever words she spoke were completely lost in his recollection. The door started to close, his hand shoving it back open. Fear, she was scared for a fleeting moment, Why was she scared? 

It was then his memory caught up to him,from the door being swung open the bitter scent of booze flooded his nose. It was clear from there, his instructions and words to her. What was still unclear is why he even spoke at all. He reached behind his back and pulled out a rolled up piece of water worn paper and his blade, flexing his grip on its handle. He unrolled the scroll, there her name was. Sarah Fortune. In the midst of forgotten crossed off names, it stood there clearly disrupting the otherwise clean pattern of his successes. He looked back to his blade, she was clearly inebriated. It wouldn’t even be a fight like before, it would be easy and quick. Another mark done. Thoughts like those wormed their way into the back of his head as he stared at the edge of his trusted tool. 

With a noise halfway between a growl and a roar he turned back towards the closed door, reaching for it’s handle but stopping just short. He ripped his arm back and dropped down, spreading his parchment along the paved ground. He followed the names downward with the tip of his knife, looking for a decently sized block of crossed off names. He found one, conveniently grouped at the end of the list. He sliced the grouping free and flipped the cutting over, a blank space. He rolled the remaining list back up and returned it to the inside pockets of his ruined coat, drawing out an old, damaged pen and small pot of deep black ink, the additions he kept alongside the list to keep it organised.

Pyke never cared for the details and writing of fancy folk, so jotting what he could remember about the offer; the targets name, bounty, boat and time to be there was a bit of a messy and quick affair, mostly legible. He figured the message was clear enough. He untied one of the varied hooks from the ropes knotted together across his back and threaded the page onto it, then stabbed the end into the door. It wasn’t exactly a nailed or secured message but wouldn’t come loose from the wind or door movement. He stepped backwards and looked at what he had done, and still had no clear idea why. From there, his memory of the night turned foggy again as he disappeared into the night. 

Sarah awoke with blurry eyes staring at the ceiling of her home, blinking to clear her vision was met with a strong dull pain shooting through her head. Sluggishly and clumsily, she moved her hand up to clutch the side of her head and instead felt another hard knock against her head. The newer sharper pain cleared her head a bit as she hissed and looked at her arm near her head, an empty bottle still clutched in hand. She sighed, a moment of disappointment as the night's events caught back up to her. She lost her target; her, Miss Fortune, the greatest bounty hunter in Bilgewater, if not the world, was utterly outdone and humiliated in her work. Disappointment turned to frustration, she grit her teeth and swung her body upwards out of the chair she had passed out in apparently. Staggered onto her unbalanced feet she mindlessly dropped the held bottle and wandered towards her bathroom bumping against decorations and furniture as she went. Having made her way to the door of her bathroom with much more effort than usually required, she stood outside the entrance and collected herself before opening it and taking in the moment. 

Bilgewater’s technology was mostly built from imported and traded knowledge from the nearby steampunk trade center Piltover. When she was helping establish cleaner trade routes between the cities, she was sure to guarantee herself the infrastructure benefits as soon as possible. Plumbing and heated water for a private bath was at the top of her priority list for it. Sarah ran her fingers along the cold brass pipes as she worked through her hangover towards a large body length mirror. A sole high window providing light to the room allowed her to see herself through still foggy vision in the polished mirror. Sarah looked herself over as she undid the clasp holding her plaited hair closed in a braid; Shaking it loose, her long hair draped over her face in clumped, straight strands, her red hair lacking its usual volume matched her mood fairly perfectly.

Her face and hair was marked with dirt and soot, the corners of her mouth turned downwards when she remembered why. At some point in the drunken night, she had discarded her assumedly just as dirty captains coat and pants, standing before her was herself garbed in her half undone corset with a jagged-frilled bra under it and regular panties covering her lower half. She undid the remaining cords of her corset and shrugged it off leaving only the bra underneath; turning her body to the sides inspecting for any wounds she could only see scattered faint bruises and scrapes. Upon seeing them she could start to feel and identify any aches that were making it through the headache still drumming in her skull. Sarah clicked her tongue in annoyance before turning away from the mirror and screwing open the tap leading over her large bathtub.

As comfortably hot water began to flow through the metal faucet and the ringing sound of pressured liquid splashing against metal filled the room Sarah turned back to the mirror. She pursed her lips in thought, a nice steamy hot bath will help clear her physical pains but she still had to work through her mental frustrations, and more alcohol with her head already pounding from however much she drank last night didn’t seem like an ideal solution. She needed answers for what had happened, why she was left alive, why he showed up at her house, why he was after a no-name deadbeat criminal, and worming at her thoughts more than any other. Who he was. A fuzzily remembered name didn’t provide much of a clue for that.   
She slapped her palms to her cheeks to break her stuck train of thought on the matter, moving away from the mirror and closing the window as she passed it, allowing the steam to build up in the room from the hot water pouring from the taps. Sarah slipped off the remainder of her clothes, the warm air comfortably washing over her fully now. Stepping and sliding down into the warm embrace of the bathwater, she let out a heavy breath as the tension in her body melted into the tub. Sarah leaned her head back against the water, her long hair pulling and floating to the sides as the water lapped at her cheeks. She laid there for a few minutes, relishing the feeling of warm water embracing her and losing herself in the relaxation. With a freshly renewed mindset she lifted her head from the water and thought out her plans for today as she worked on scrubbing the filth from her body.

Rafen could be a good place to start, she figured. Her former first-mate, now captain of her old crew and ship, kept his ear to the ground on the common level workings of Bilgewater and acted as an invaluable informant for Sarah on the matters while she focused on the politics and maintaining balance at the upper classes. If someone like Derek knew something about the assailant; Rafen was nearly guaranteed to, Sarah told herself, and if somehow he didn’t have a lead, asking around bars, brothels and markets would be her next step. If she wanted to she could’ve made her way to Piltover and fairly easily charm her way to the Sheriff’s records through the Enforcer’s pants, but making the trip there short on cash and patience would run her dry on both. She threw her head back under the water to shock herself out of her thoughts. Rising back up and shaking off the excess water from her hair she committed herself to the first plan of checking in with Rafen, knowing she could get a better drink from him than the swill she had been downing only partially influencing her decision.

Sarah again stood before her mirror, wiping the fog from it with an arm and inspecting herself as she wrung water from her hair. Looking at herself cleaned up invited back memories from last night, of Pyke. She remembered the hatred and disdain she saw in his eyes and shuddered a bit, it was the first time in a long while she’d felt scared and in genuine danger, She hated the feeling for someone who inflicts it on the regular. The clearest memory of the feeling starting to rear up as her eyes wandered to the two extremely faint scars on her chest. Turning away from the mirror and wrapping herself in a towel she refined out the plan for her morning, going to her old ship, the Syren, moored on the western docks. Talk to Rafen, try not to get drunk from his booze that early and take it from there. Ideally by the end of the day, she’d know something, anything, about the ripper.

As she exited her bath and made her way back down the hallway into the living area of her house, still dripping with water, she noticed where her clothes were discarded. Haphazardly thrown over a pile of broken glass in what she guessed was a drunken, vain attempt to ‘clean’ the mess. Sarah leant down and picked up her coat by the sleeve, the clattering of tiny glass shards falling out from it telling her all she needed to know about its re-usability. She’d have to clean it later; or if she could finally get some money in, get someone to do it for her, she much preferred that option. Gingerly avoiding that section of the floor she went around a counter to what would’ve been a kitchen if Sarah ever used it for anything but storing varied boozy drinks and their empty bottles. She tried to rifle through pantry shelves and cupboards but came up empty for anything usable for food, or any money to get some. She sighed and moved back around the counter and up the hall, stopping at the door opposite to the bathroom and swinging it open. Fortune had to step back and cover her mouth as dust blew out from the room. 

What was once a well kept study was a pile of varied loot and whatever objects she had collected on her travels covered in dust and untouched for a long while. Holding her hand over her face she waded through the clutter to run her hands along shelves with decrepit books and forgotten knick-knacks until she heard a distinct clink of metal, one she knew by heart. A few dust covered bronze washers and a sole silver serpent, enough for something to eat she hoped. Looking around at the shambled room as she left, Sarah promised herself she’d get around to cleaning it, eventually.

Back in the hall, she made her way to the door at the end of it and entered. A wide, open room. A large bed in the center was covered with bunched sheeting and carelessly thrown around pillows. She rarely made it to her bed recently, for sleep anyway, but it still stood as the centerpiece of the room. Two small bedside cabinets on either side of the beds head, a few matching closets on the opposite side of the bed from the entrance and a well stocked vanity table and body length mirror closer to the door were the only other furnishings around. Oddly minimalistic compared to the rest of her house and lifestyle but it served its purpose well and Sarah liked to keep her most private area clean and sorted for any short notice visitors.

Sarah breathed out and smiled. Being in her room brought about an air of relief and safety. She slipped the towel wrapped around her chest loose and let it drop to the floor as she strutted to her wardrobes freely nude and enjoying the freeing feeling for the first time since her nightmare of the last day. Swinging the wood doors open she stroked her chin in an exaggerated manner; even for nobody to see Sarah enjoyed mulling over what to wear for even menial days. If she needed information from drunken fools in bars she’d need to be a bit of a flirt, she rifled through a drawer and grabbed out a matching pair of black, lace-frilly underwear. Slipping into the panties and pulling the bra clasps closed behind her back she figured her next options, something a bit classier and plain to visit Rafen and her old crew, or what was left of it. A crisp white, long but flared sleeve buttoned silk shirt with a higher cut than she usually wore suited her need there fine. Not wanting to dress up too much on the pants, she picked out an older but regular pair of hers, tight and form fitting but laced together on the sides to show off a streak of her flawless leg skin with a looser tie around the waist accentuating her curves. A black, leather belt held the pants snug above her waist, holsters for her pistols already and always attached. Lastly for clothing she grabbed the pair of half-knee boots that matched her pants choice, what used to be gilding now faded to a more bronze-like accent and dulled and rounded corners showed their age; but she didn't mind the worn look of them compared to the broken in comfort.

Closing and moving away from the closets, Sarah admired herself in the mirror for a few moments, turning and bending her body to get a clearer look at the outfit and how it showed her body from different angles. Simple, but with a few undone buttons and crossed legs to show skin; sexy enough to get what she wanted, whatever it could be. For now, and to start with Rafen, she buttoned it high enough to not show the lace of her bra but couldn't help herself leaving the top few open for a bit of a window into the start of her cleavage.

“Nice.” Sarah chimed to herself with a smirk before moving to take a seat at her vanity; another simple enough job, bright red lipstick to bring out her soft pillowy lips and thin but dark eyeliner to make her glimmering blue-green eyes pop against them. Making sure her makeup was flawless before picking out a pair of small, ruby and gold stud earrings, and with them in place she was prepared to head out for the day. Leaving her room and still careful of where she stood for the glass pile, she headed towards the more open living room, grabbing her pistols from where she left them on a small table last night and a small pouch of her pre-formed packets of gunpowder and lead shot from beside them, latching them as well onto her belt. Along with the ammo pouches she grabbed the bounty poster for Elroy and shoved it into one of them. She headed for the exit, taking her house key from a small stand by the exit on the way out, but as she opened the door she was taken aback by the brightness of the outside lifting a hand to shield her eyes.

She had somehow figured it was still early in the morning, but the sun shining overhead indicated it was at least noon. She cursed to herself before moving out, closing and locking the door behind her, looking upwards from there, she noticed the paper stuck into her door with a wicked looking hook. The corners of her mouth were pulled downwards as it became very clear last night did really happen and wasn’t what she was hoping by some miracle, was just a drink fuelled nightmare. Sarah ripped the paper from the hook pinning it and read over it, the staggered lines and messy writing making it difficult to decipher at first but remembered Pyke’s words from the night before, the note just a restatement of his threatening offer. Sarah clicked her tongue in annoyance as she folded the paper over and stuffed it down into one of her ammo pouches alongside the bounty poster, with her door locked behind her she moved out into the hidden paths of upper bilgewater. 

Miss Fortune valued many things, but for where she lived, privacy and luxury took the most precedent. After spending most of her life aboard ships having a more stable home on land was something she very much appreciated. The upper levels of Bilgewater were built upon the cliffs and crags that made up the main islands unlike the lower levels that supported and assembled from shipwrecks outwards, but as time progressed and the islands grew larger in trade, more luxurious buildings and infrastructure made their way to the stable upper echelons. The glass city of Piltover being the closest and most prolific trade partner led to the recent development of steam and hextech power throughout the upper city. Only the richest and most powerful residents of Bilgewater had personal access to the slow-growing network of technology. Naturally, Sarah secured herself into the early adopters of the system, on top of that, she was sure to nestle into a home hidden away in the backends of the city. It was a disheveled little place when she found it, but after investing some of her fortune into it, it turned into a comfortable, private hidden sanctuary with only a select few knowing where the queen of bilgewater made her home. This made it that much more worrying that the ripper had followed her right to it, and knew where it was. It was a problem she had to rectify as soon as she could and didn’t particularly like the idea of leaving it behind.

As Sarah made her way out into the busy streets of her city, throwing the occasional wave or nod to vaguely familiar faces; acquaintances, merchants and other political power holders among them, she was musing over a decision, to meet the rippers' request or not. One one hand, she had a lot of questions, and as much as she was hoping to get answers from Rafen and asking around, she had a sinking feeling they wouldn’t be enough. On the other hand, heading into a potential trap wasn’t really high on her list of things to do for fun. She couldn’t decide, she needed more information on just what she was potentially getting herself into. Just who, or what, is Pyke. That was step one.

Sarah snapped back into reality as the noise from conversations and bustle around her overtook her thoughts. The upper and lower halves of bilgewater were connected via varied ways, but the main one was a series of great chain and gear elevators. Originally designed for moving ship parts and other freight, now provided the easiest means for denizens to travel between the two, between workers returning to the lower levels after a night binging on the leisures of the topside and their bosses moving from their luxurious livings to dirtier workplaces, even in the middle of the day the elevators remained busy. Sarah moved and shouldered her way through the crown and onto a slightly cleaner and less busy elevator, this one led down to nearby the western docks of Bilgewater, where merchant ships and the personal vessels of the wealthier of the world were moored. It was also where her ship, The Syren, was docked, standing as a warning to any reavers or pirates willing to attempt a raid on the trade ships. Since Gangplanks defeat, Sarah had made sure to keep trade routes safe and open for the city, what used to be a treacherous voyage had become open and welcoming to merchants. The Syren was well known as the ship that sunk Gangplanks flagship, a colossal warship known as The Dead Pool, it was a symbol of power and authority now.

The machine lurched and screeched as it descended down along its track, wisps of her hangover still active made Sarah’s stomach lurch with it, she hoped with the growing infrastructure from Piltover these could be replaced with smoother mechanisms sooner rather than later. Regaining her composure she looked over railings at the open sea, taking a moment to bask in the sun and appreciate the light glimmering across the blue waves. This side of the ocean was much more preferable to look at than the polluted and warped seas on the south-eastern side of the islands. She was knocked out of her admiration by the machine shifting again and upsetting her balance. It was reaching the bottom half of the track now as buildings formed of broken boats reached up towards it from the sides, down at the docks however the architecture was more refined, purposefully refurbished with clean white stone welcoming the incoming traders and wealth holders. Merchants eager to sell and the rich eager to buy. While piltover still stood as the trade capital of Runeterra, Bilgewater and it’s looser legal bindings allowed for more extravagant sales; drugs, weapons and favours all sold amongst trinkets and keepsakes.It was something Sarah wasn’t too keen about but keeping an economy stable required trade-offs, she didn’t have the influence to put a complete stop to it at the moment anyway. 

More nods, more waves, more tiring acknowledgement as she worked her way towards the center of the dock lines, where The Syren was anchored. Not long ago it was Sarah’s everything; her symbol, her weapon, and her home, now it was a reminder of her past but not an entirely bad one. She looked up at the vessel, hands planted on hips admiring it. Rafen had taken excellent care of it, perhaps even better than Sarah did; the wooden boards making up the hull recently waxed, not a spot of rust on metal braces or portholes along its side, sails crisp white and pristine. That last detail annoyed Fortune, many times she had reminded Rafen the boat and crew was his and he should make and fly his own colours, yet he flippantly refused each time leaving it blank. Rafen and the crew from Sarah’s time as captain held the belief one day she’d return as their leader, they accepted and respected Rafen to take the lead but they were first and foremost committed to her command. Sarah knew this clearly, and also knew it was perhaps best to leave it that way in case she ever did need to return to her position. Fortune was given a clear reminder of their mentality when a gruff voice shouted from the ship's deck.

“Oi! The Cap’s here, hurry and throw her a line Y’ fool!” One of the voices commanded from out of her sight, a rope ladder was tossed from over the edge of the ship, the bottom landing cleanly in front of her. Looking back up at them with a smirk she scanned over their faces, older ones smiling in recognition, the sort you’d greet an old friend with, while some younger ones looked a bit confused at her. As she started to climb the rope ladder the crew on deck started to pull it up at the same time, the combined movement not helping with Sarah’s fading but present hungover imbalance. Nearing the top a rough, cloth wrapped arm held out its hand to her, recognising it she gripped it’s wrist and was promptly pulled up over the edge. Hiding her nausea from the sudden movement she righted herself up and with a renewed smile, looked over at the people before her, she prided herself on accepting based on merit and experience over position or status and that reflected in the crew, being composed of people from different and varied walks of life. She settled her eyes from looking across the crew onto the man who helped her abroad, a wiry frame with sun-scarred dark skin and brown-turning-grey dreads pulled to the back of the head. Rafen stood before her with a weary smile and crossed arms, he knew her well enough to see how exhausted and unsteady she was behind the smile, after a few minutes of letting the crew swarm over Sarah with greetings and familiar gestures, he spoke up.

“A’right you sorry lot, back to it and let the cap’n breathe.” His voice seemed small amongst the chatter of others but it commanded the respect befitting a captain, combined with his experience and age upon the sea it wasn’t surprising how well he adapted to the role of a captain, as much as he wouldn’t admit it. As the crowd dispersed back to their positions along the deck, Rafen stepped in closer to Sarah, jerking his head towards the captain's cabin of the ship. “C’mon, ye’ look like ye’ need a drink.”.

“You know me too well Rafen.” Fortune responded tiredly, being around her old ship and crew made her exhaustion catch up quickly to her. Wordlessly she followed him into what used to be her sanctum on the ship, it now looked more like an office space, decorations and loot replaced with shelves packed with ledgers and documents. Everything about Rafen spoke to him being a better captain than most, everything except Rafen himself, still dressed in the raggy coat he used during his years as Sarah’s first mate and with little care for how others perceive him. As Sarah closed the door behind her she turned around to see Rafen stand before her with hands behind back and face turned upwards.

“So, what can I help ye’ with, Miss Sarah Fortune?” He spoke with a forced snobbiness, seeing him mock the ridiculous nature of those she was too used to talking to recently Sarah couldn’t hold back a small laugh.

“First I need a hug, you old bastard, it’s been a long day.” This time, it was Rafen’s turn to laugh, a barking chuckle as he wrapped an arm around Sarah and patted her back. His touch wasn’t soft but to Sarah it was calming in a way, Rafen was the closest she had to any semblance of family. Although they met while she was rising in status, Rafen treated and taught Sarah the ways of seafaring and surviving in bilgewater as if she were fresh on the water. Her mentor turned to her first mate and now taking the reins as her unwilling successor, they both found amusement in the irony and ridiculousness of their progression. Releasing from their quick, familial embrace, Sarah plopped down into the chair closest to her and leaned against a solid desk. Rafen moved around the desk grabbing a pair of glasses and an unmarked bottle from a chest near the captain’s chair, sitting down and setting a glass in front of Fortune. 

A shot of rich brown liquid filled her glass, whatever it was she greedily and happily drank it down, the familiar burn gave her enough of an idea what it was, one of Rafen’s favourite drinks she often treated him to after a successful day. 

“Honey whiskey, you’re a predictable drinker.”

“Ay, maybe,but when you’re my age new things get old.” Sarah furrowed her brow making sense of his wisdom, before shrugging and taking it at face value. “So, I ask again, what can I help ye’ with Sarah.” Rafen continued, were it a different time and different circumstances she’d have had a back and forth with the aged man about why she can’t just show up for a visit. 

“Hm, look at you hurrying me along, trying to keep it all for yourself?” She asked while holding her glass out, being respectfully met with another shot of the whiskey. She sipped at the drink, thinking about how best to ask her questions without causing Rafen to jump to conclusions. “So, I’ve been kept out of the loop on something, or someone.” Rafen responded with a quizzical hum, sipping at his own drink. “So...what have you heard about a ripper?”

Rafen stopped his sipping, and placed his glass down on the desk.

“Now, where did ye’ hear that story?”

“Hm, here and there.” 

“Aye. I might’ve heard some things, why’re ye’ asken’ about that?” Rafen’s reaction was unusual, he never questioned Sarah before, and this was an odd place to start. 

“Well, it was simple wonder but now you’ve got me curious.” 

“Aye, well then.” Rafen breathed deeply, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the boards above them. Sounds of crew members wandering around the deck reverberated through the wood.

“Musta’ been a few months ago now, started with just a few lackeys around the slaughter docks gon’ missing, nuffin to fret over.” He paused to finish his drink. “Til’ they found the bodies anyway.” Sarah snapped to attention now, latching and listening to Rafen’s every word.

“Spread out from there, more and more people disappearing’, then came the captains. First was a small time fisher boat cap, they found ‘im in his cabin, well, most of ‘im so they say, with a message in the bastards own blood. No more captains. Wasn’t until the next few dropped they started to believe that. Gave it a name, whatever it was, The Bloodharbor Ripper.” Rafen stood up from his chair, looking tired and older than usual and made his way to one of the shelves, spending a few moments rifling through papers and bringing a few out with a sigh, setting one in front of Sarah. A bounty paper, no image, just a name and a number. Bloodharbor ripper, one-hundred serpents.

Sarah was disappointed, if it was this big a deal the prize would’ve been more than a measly hundred, her disappointment was quickly wiped away by the next paper. 

“It started gettin’ on ships at night, slips right past guards and goes for the cap’s. If it was seen, it left, came back later, only ever killed one at a time though, took some time but finally one lad says he knew ‘im, then another few backed ‘im up. Not before another few dozen had gone through.” The second paper had a name this time, and upon seeing it Sarah felt a deep pang in her chest, a mix of fear, dread and excitement. Pyke, The Bloodharbor Ripper, fifty golden krakens, an entirely different scale of reward.

“So, now ye’ve got a whole lot of cap’s keepin timid, scared of drawing attention or headed out to sea, din’t matter much, damned thing has a list apparently, names that get crossed off. And there’s a whole lot’ names on that list.” It was here Sarah interjected with a burning question.

“And how do you know so much about this if he’s so slippery that nobody has caught him for fifty krakens?”

Rafen responded by putting the last paper down in front of her, the same name, now with a picture, hardly a detailed sketch from one of the artists at the bounty offices,it was a drawing of a faceless normal head and a red bandana with white sharp triangles drawn up and down it. More concerning to Sarah than that, was the number now, five hundred golden krakens, more than most captains in bilgewater would amass in their careers. Sarah was not most captains but even to her that was a very considerable amount.

“Because, nobody can catch it, Sarah. Those young-uns you saw on the deck, their cap used ‘imself as bait, got ‘is entire crew to jump the bastard as soon as he showed up. Left him a mess, shot, slashed and cut up on the deck, they’re the ones that looked through his things and told me about his list. Now, if they’re here. Without their cap. Ye probably imagining what happened next. But I’ll tell ye this Captain. From what they’ve said, it’s worse than you could think up.”

“Rafen, we were there for the Harrowing-”

“No, Sarah.” Rafen did know her well, he interrupted before she could finish her comparison between that horrific event and whatever this was. “Those things in the harrowing, they’re mindless, a goal and nuffin else. This thing. This Pyke, it was angry. Before then, it only wanted who was on the list, here, it was all the fools drinking to their success on killing him. Those few out there, they weren’t on the boat afterwards, the cap told them to go get the bounty officers. They came back to a boat of blood and bodies, This paper-” He tapped the bounty flyer in front of Sarah, “Printed only a few days ago, and i’ve done everything in my bloody power to keep it from ye’”

Fortune looked up at him with a raised brow, concern and fear were splashed across his dark, aged face. A harsh mirror to her excited and wolfish grin.

“Because I knew, the second ye’ saw this, ye’d want to have a try yourself. And ye’d go and get yerself killed over something as stupid as money.” 

Sarah tried to respond, but the words were caught in her throat. Partially from fear, and partially because Rafen was completely right. She did want to try.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have been convinced to write some more in the meantime of waiting for Ruined King. Woops.

Sarah rarely, if ever, made an active effort to visit the slaughter docks of bilgewater. Although it formed the foundation of the entire cities economy, something she had a responsibility to keep a keen interest in despite personal indifference, the atmosphere was about as unappealing to her as it could be. Hidden in the dusky shore of the main Island sunlight was a rarity along the great stone piers and deckways, all for the better anyway, Sarah figured.. From massive mechanical cranes and structures hung corpses of the beasts in various states of being harvested and picked apart by skilled carvers , liquideous fat and blood flowed from them onto the stone and wood, below slicking the surface underneath as menial workers tried fruitlessly to scrub away the refuse back into the ocean it came from. It smelled bad enough without the sun to speed matters along.   
  
It was difficult to keep a straight face, to avoid gagging and scrunching her face in disgust as Sarah made her way through the shadows towards the western side of the docks where hunting vessels made anchor. While she usually strutted around bilgewater like she owned the place, rightly so, she had opted to keep herself subtle for several reasons today. Not at the bottom of that list was the fact many under Gangplanks rule had found their living here after Sarah had sent him and his ships to the depths in her campaign of revenge. Evidenced so by the all too common tattoo that marked his loyalists. Another valid reason was making sure her appearance wasn’t raising any questions as to her actions, last thing she needed was other high ranking Captains and gang leaders of bilgewater asking why their self-proclaimed Queen was skulking around the lowest levels of her dominion. There had been a close call as she stared a moment too long at a carver who had walked past her. They had drawn her attention by the jingling of metal hooks tied into a rope net slung over their back, apparently a common tool of the trade here, and a hint towards the origin of her mystery man. It had taken the carver moving to take a closer look at her that snapped her out of her thoughts and memories of what had brought her here, shaking them loose as she pulled the hood of her rough cloak further over her head as she continued along.

Sarah was becoming increasingly concerned as she continued along the dock that moored the hunting vessels, she figured she wouldn’t find The Merry-Man amongst the likes of the gargantuan boats designed to haul in beasts of the deep that needed their full crews of fifty-plus, but as she made it to the smaller boats designed for two dozen men or even less there was still no sign of it. She was about to give up as she reached the point where half the boats moored were half-decayed, figuring the name and situation to be the ramblings of a madman and herself just as mad for indulging them. Until one boat caught her eye, amongst the dilapidated wrecks it blended in worryingly well, but there was no mistaking the name carved roughly into the side. The Merry-Man. Fortune had to stifle a sigh of mixed emotions; disappointment, trepidation and regret melded together as she took in the boat before her. While most vessels even for normal fishing in the dangerous waters had crews of around a dozen, this hardly looked like it would hold even half of that with how it bowed unsteadily in the shallow waters. Sarah winced as the thin gangway leading to it’s deck groaned under her, being very careful with her steps so as to not fall into the murk below.   
  
The deck of the small tartane was as in poor repair as the hull and just as vocal about the strain placed on it’s boards. Sarah ducked underneath the single mast and making her way to the bow where she found an elderly man down on his knees slowly scrubbing away at the muck layer caked onto the decaying planks. Fortune cleared her throat to draw his attention, then again louder, neither drew the man's attention. “Excuse me, I don’t appreciate being ignored.” No response, Sarah stepped forward, pressing into the groaning deck. Still nothing. “Did he tell you not to say anything?” Sarah was annoyed at the silence, emotions from the entire situation focusing down on the crouched old man before her. Fortune moved to grab his shoulder and turn him around, violently, but before she could make contact a strong hand gripped her wrist and stilled her hand.  
  
“Planning to attack a deaf man?” Sarah jumped at the touch, but her chest sank at the voice. The judgement in it. She knew who it was before she turned but met the cold glowing blue stare of Pyke. She wrenched her wrist from his grasp and turned her full attention to him.   
  
“Maybe if I had any warning wouldn’t have had to get that close to doing so. Where were you hiding?” She crossed her arms and met Pykes stare, in the slightly brighter light she could see him in a clearer fashion. Height wise, he wasn’t much different from her, but his body was built for the polar opposite of her life. While she was wooing and alluring allies; strutting along ships and swinging off the ropes of ships, Pyke would have been working on these very docks Fortune figured, hauling those great sea beasts and carving them apart. Hard muscle was packed on a wide built body, legs that could grip onto the thrashing krakens and arms that could carry them onto decks. Sarah couldn’t help her eyes drifting downwards towards his exposed chest where something caught her eye aside from the varied scars adorning his body. His dark skin had an oddly grey aspect to it, as if it were completely lifeless, but here he was standing and moving before her. Fortune's face must have shifted and given away her glance, Pyke turned away from her before she could focus her vision better.   
  


Fortune could only stand there and watch as Pyke wordlessly stepped beside the apparently deaf man, prodding him with a studded boot. There was no greeting, no warmth in their silent interaction as Pyke produced a rolled map from his coat and pointed to something on it. A nod was all the confirmation from the old man as he struggled to stand straight and prepare the vessel for sail. As shaky hands began to undo knots Pyke strode past Sarah without so much as a glance and made his way below deck,a hatch she hadn’t noticed opening the way into the dark. She weighed her options, her last chance to walk away from the mysterious killer, her sense of safety screaming at her to do so. Sarah never was one to listen to that sense, the voice of sensibility telling her how much of a mistake she was making. She followed him into the darkness below deck. Making sure to flick a coin into the water as tidings before she did so.  
  
Sarah took note of a couple things, that there was an unlit lantern in the middle of the space. And that for a ship of this size, this was an oddly large storage space, deeper and wider than normal for a small fishing vessel. She grabbed the lantern and lit the wick before closing the hatch, leaving them sharing only the dim flame for visibility. For what felt like minutes, she sat silently, studying him. He sat deathly still, mirroring her stare with faintly glowing eyes. Sarah had the feeling if she didn’t break the silence nothing would. “Care to tell me why I’m here, Mr. Ripper?”   
  
“A distraction.” Was his only response.  
  
A wry smile crawled on her lips, “If you wanted that, I’m sure there are other fine ladies who would oblige.” She waited, there was no response aside from a cold stare, Sarah clicked her tongue and returned to a stone faced neutrality. “Fine, no fun then, a distraction for what?”. Pure business it was then.  
  
“Elroy has men, too many. Make noise and draw them out.” It was simple, too simple. Sarah would have to stay on her guard, survival instincts telling her it could be a trap.   
  
“Alright, why me then? Lots of ways to make noise without an accomplice.” He didn’t respond. Fine then, she was tired of being ignored today, simple questions it was. “What are you?” She asked with as much icy command as she could muster, maybe simple was the wrong word, direct. But even that only earned his continued stony stare. She waited, the silence between them deafening enough to drown out the waves now lapping against the hull. She couldn’t handle it, she had to break that stalemate somehow. “Why are you after Elroy?”. _Why are you killing the people that you are._ That broke his still demeanor if only for a second, barely noticeable but his eyes shifted ever so slightly and head dipped. But no response, not until another few minutes had passed and he had turned his head away, staring off as if he could see something through the hull of the ship.  
  
“He was there, watched me drown. Cut the line, same as the others” His voice dropped too quiet for Sarah to parse whatever he was mumbling, only catching the first few words that just raised more questions she was sure she wouldn’t get answers for. It was clear whatever he was saying even then wasn’t directed at her. Wasn’t an answer for anything. Sarah was ready to ask another question but, looking at him it was clear he wasn’t paying attention. She needed to stretch her legs, get out of the cold, lifeless space he had occupied down here, so Sarah left the storage space of the boat, left him there.  
  
As soon as she was out of that space it felt like she could breathe again, even if the air still carried some of the filth of the slaughter docks it was better than the stifling air down there. The sea breeze felt soothing against her face as she pulled back her hood and breathed in the salt. The Captain of the small boat steered it from the bow, rudder in one hand and mast handle in the other. Ignoring and oblivious to anything behind him. Sarah figured somehow, he might make for better conversation than whatever was below deck, she grabbed his attention the same way Pyke did, walking up beside him and waiting for the man to acknowledge her.

His face pulled back in a moment of shock before settling his gaze on her. He shrugged. _What is it?_ Sarah thought for a moment about how to sign something, anything towards her questions. She opted to point towards the hatch, and return the shrug. _What’s his deal?_ He stopped for a moment, taking both hands free from the controls of the vessel to sign responses easier, it wasn’t needed for his response, just another shrug. So Sarah pointed at him instead, then gestured to the dishevelled boat. He stood still for a moment, contemplation on his face. The Captain pulled back his sleeve to reveal a tattoo Sarah found all too familiar, Gangplanks mark, but as she stepped back and placed a hand into her coat to grab her weapon he quickly put his hands out and signed her to wait, presenting the tattoo again. It was scarred, crossed out by cuts that had healed over badly. He pointed to Sarah, then the tattoo, then crossed over it. _After you killed him._ He turned his pockets inside out, empty. _I had nothing_. He smiled at her though, offering the gesture as something positive. He held his arms out to the sea. _I was free though._ He paused for another moment, then pointed to the hatch, then grabbed a small pouch from near his seat at the helm. The pouch jingled in his hand, then he gestured to the boat. _He chartered me._ He picked up and dropped the pouch in his hands a few more times, it wasn’t the first time he’d been hired. With new information to the methods of her mystery man she smiled and nodded her thanks to the old man and moved to the stern of the ship, admiring the open waters away from the docks and breathing in the fresher ocean air as she closed her eyes

Pyke was somewhere else, thoughts scattering and wandering around. Swimming like fish that flitted away before they could be caught. She asked questions, too many questions Pyke didn’t, couldn’t, have the answers to. He didn’t know why he had sought her out, he never needed help before and didn’t need to start now. He was after Elroy for the same reason as any other, whenever that image came into his head, of being left to die and drown, it was someone different. And he couldn’t get rid of it, memories of that pain and betrayal screamed at him until he had found and killed whoevers face and name came to the front of his thoughts. If they even were his thoughts anymore. There was a list that had all the names so he could beat the images to the punch, but it never grew shorter. The longer he waited the louder and crueller the images became. And as for what he was, he didn’t think about that for long. Didn’t want to. When his scattered thoughts snapped back to reality, he noticed he was alone in the lower decks. Of course he was. He didn’t know how long he had been unaware of his own body. Alone again, as it needed to be. He sensed it though, Elroy, his target was getting closer. He felt that pull, that unnatural anger pointing him in the right direction. He followed that feeling, phasing through the boat itself into the ocean that swallowed him every time he closed his eyes.   
  


Sarah woke to a gentle tapping of boot on wood near her, opening her eyes to find the old Captain pointing to an island that had come into view. Sarah felt around her cloak checking that her weapons were in place as blurry eyes focused onto that distant island. It wasn’t just a densely foliaged land mass, a warship had beached there and rested broken against the land, evidenced by the masts peeking out about the treeline at odd angles. One of several small splays of land that were hidden amongst the outer reaches of the northern tropical archipelagoes. As they got closer she could make out the tattered flag hanging from the main mast, she knew who Elroy worked for before so it came as no surprise but still didn’t stop the sickening drop in her stomach every time she saw it, even on the deaf old Captain's arm. Old memories normally drowned out by violence, alcohol or both. Neither of which she had access too as she became all too aware of the rocking motion of the boat she was on. The Captain broke her thoughts by opening the hatch door on squeaky hinges and motioning her in. She turned to him halfway down the stairs and mimed a question, needing some kind of interaction before coming face to face with the ripper again. She pointed to her ear then him, then shrugged. The Captain pointed to her, then his tattooed arm and clashed his fists together. He then mimed an explosion with his hands next to his ears with a loud noise that caught Sarah off guard. Cannons. _When you were fighting, I was there, deafened by the cannon fire._ Sarah was instantly awash with feelings of guilt, she didn’t regret the conflict and knew there were several like this Captain who had their lives changed not for the better. But being this close to it, without any way to close off those feelings, it hit her hard. She placed her hand over her chest. _I’m sorry._ He shook his head, then pointed to the island. The Captain made a neck-slitting motion. _Not you, them._ Sarah smiled, and was more than happy to oblige his request. With renewed confidence, Sarah went down the few steps and ducked into the storage space, only to find it empty. Looking to the Captain for an answer she only got a shrug in response as the hatch closed. Three taps on it to tell her that was the signal to come out.

Pyke stilled himself, the water around him obeying his will to be unseen and unheard. A ghost in the waves lapping at the shoreline. There were two guards patrolling the coast where the Merry-Man would dock, two drunk fools hardly paying attention to where they were walking let alone the quiet water around them. It felt too easy, and it might’ve been suspicious if not for that Pyke had been watching these same two every time he scouted here. The same two drunks every day. He’d been waiting for this chance. Images of the pair abroad The Terror flashed in his thoughts. Looking down at him. Sneers wide as the jaws closed around his vision. An all too familiar choir of voices echoing across his psyche tying hateful images together. _They were there. It was them. They let you drown. They KILLED you._ His rage carried through the water, the currents wrapping around the handle of his blade turning into an arm. The rest of his body followed, solidifying as he silently rose from the surface of the water and cocked his arm back.

The one further away first. Pyke threw his arm forward. The blade soared through the air and sunk itself into the neck of the guard with a wet thunk. Before the other could react fully to his companions death, Pyke whipped the rope that trailed his blade, ripping its barbed edge from the corpse mid-fall and flicking its broader, heavier edge into the face of the second guard. He had barely hit the ground and started screaming through the blood leaking from his nose before Pyke was already upon him, holding a hand over his mouth while the wicked blade finished the kill. He took a moment to listen, hear if there was any more movement in the sands around them, content there was nothing he dragged the corpses back with him into the saltwater. The currents took them to unseen depths while Pyke himself melded back into the water, indiscernible from the sea as he scouted the shore.   
  
  


The ship lurched to a halt, Sarah was suddenly glad she hadn’t had anything to drink on the way as much as it may have made interacting with the ripper a little more tolerable. She righted herself upwards against the inner hull, waiting with bated breath and a gun firmly in hand. Thankfully, it didn’t take long until the tapping on wood gave her an excuse to leave the stuffy interior. After a quick appreciative nod to the Captain, Sarah hopped down from the side of the boat into the knee-high water, making her way to the shore where she saw why it didn’t take long for the all clear signal. The sands of the shore were already bloodsoaked, spray patterns marked the sand while a red puddle was lapped away by the waves. Sarah was no stranger to death, bloody decks and floating bodies a common occurrence. But something about how the tide seemed to rush up the shore to wash away the blood unnerved her today. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was looking at something almost alive, a starving beast lapping at the liquid death before her. Sarah forced herself to look away from it, skin crawling and cold at the sight. She steeled herself and fought against her instincts to leave once more. Fortune pulled back her hood and drew her second pistol, stepping into the dense foliage beyond the bloodstained beach. Staying low and listening for any movement of patrols, considering how to cause enough noise to open a path for the ripper. Once Sarah made it far enough through the foliage to see the beached ship along the opposite shore, and in just how bad a shape it was in, she didn’t have to consider for long.   
  
Turning broken ships into more stable foundations was an important part of bilgewater’s infrastructure, entire trades and companies dedicated to the skill. Gangplanks leftover cronies evidently were lacking any people skilled in the matter. The ship itself was essentially split across the middle, the bow and stern separated to either side of a large rock on the shore. Planks had been ripped off the hull to prop up shelters and hold the rotting stern half up, dug deep into the sand to do so but clearly a haphazard measure. Even from her hiding spot in the underbrush Sarah could hear the faint groaning of wood as the tide beat against the broken ship. There were a few patrolling guards around, assuredly more inside the ship but if her plan worked, they’d hardly be a problem. With a cocksure smirk she emerged from the foliage and strutted across the beach. The slovenly guards were slow to notice her but surely enough even they couldn’t miss her as she reached the shoreline and whistled. “Hello boys.” She taunted, grabbing their attention, realising who they were approached by, they rapidly scrambled for nearby weapons. She pointed her guns at the beams holding half of the ship up.  
  
  


Pyke had been waiting, waiting for the distraction he had so vaguely requested. He had expected a gunfight to break out, or a distant explosion to draw them away. What he had not expected, was to feel and see the entire stern half of the ship break away from the shore and capsize into the rocky shallows. The ship was old, rotten. It broke itself as it tipped sideways, trapping those inside below broken planks as the ocean bled into the carcass of the ship. One of the pirates reached out to Pyke through a portcullis in vain hope of a saviour. Pyke simply looked upward to the bow side of the ship and saw exactly what he wanted. Companions of the brigands diving down into the waters to inspect the damage, very few making an effort to help their comrades. More than came to investigate, about a half dozen judging by the shapes visible from below the surface. Gunshots followed promptly. She’d manage, Pyke reasoned to himself as he made his way through those that dove into his waters. Their gutted corpses sinking down, a grim assurance to those waiting for rescue in the wreck. He was approaching the bow-side hull of the ship as he heard him. Muffled and faint through the water, but Pyke’s thoughts assured him it was Elroy.

  
 _“What is SHE doing here?”_ He asked something, it responded, Pyke didn’t care what it said as he sped up towards the broken half. _“Then stop her, you oaf, paid more for you than the rest of the useless lot combined.”_ He knew that voice, that voice that barked the order to cut him loose. Doomed him to fall into the jaws of the sea beast. Pyke threw his hooked blade up along the rails of the deck, leaping up from the water and hauling himself up with it.

He saw him, the same as his memory of that night. Exactly the same. Greasy hair, flat face, expensive clothes. A Captain. “You, wha-why YOU!” he stepped back in fear, pointing a shaky finger at Pyke. “Forget Fortune, get HIM first.”   
  
Pyke heard the movement, but couldn’t look away from Elroy, “You were there.” He began, pointing the blade at his fearful mark. “You gave the ord-GUH!”. Something large and heavy crashed into Pykes side, tackling him through the rails and back into the sea. Back in his territory, Pyke was able to phase out from the vice grip around him and view his attacker, the one who had taken away his revenge. A vastayan, a shark vastayan with grey skin, a strong tail and finned arms. Aquatic features that made it easy for the large oaf to speed towards Pyke ready to grab him again and smash him into the submerged side of the ship. But the water warned Pyke, obeyed him and moved him through phantom currents even faster than the sea-dweller vastayan. Dodging his tackle, Pyke twisted himself in the water and slashed at the vastayan, only scratching the surface of the rough, leathery skin. Ignoring the minor wound, the vastayan managed to grab Pyke's arm as it was manifested to strike, and pulled it close, biting deep into the flesh. No blood came from the wound and only served to give Pyke an angle to twist his blade backwards, aiming to take an eye with the tip of his blade. The shark-breed caught on quickly and released his arm, moving back with a swish of his tail and only taking a scratch to the cheek. He stared down the rippers glowing-red stare with a baring of teeth before launching himself into another attack.   
  
  


“You’d think years after losing a war you lot would think to improve.” Sarah mocked the injured brigand under her, a boot planted on the bullet wound in their stomach. She was proud of a few things, that even a little out of practise, eight of Gangplank's old henchmen hadn’t managed to get close enough to pose a threat to her. Of her plan to sink the stern and however many other sorry souls were locked in there. Of the fact that aside from satisfying her curiosity today, she was able to deal another blow to the remnants of the filth that haunted her.   
  
“Fuck. You.” Sarah was almost impressed at the tenacity of this one, able to get one last curse out even with her grinding a heel against a bullet wound in the stomach. “Hm, he might after all this.” She answered, hardly paying attention, her thoughts elsewhere. She pressed down once more before stepping off and towards the bow, happy to let them bleed out on the shore.   
  
“He’s coming back, you know, then you’ll get what's coming to you, whore.” Sarah turned back to the dying woman. Stone faced and levelled her pistol at her again, firing before she could say another word. Moving quickly along before letting her dying words impact her thoughts. Reloading her weapons, moving quickly to the bow. Anything to not let those words shake her. He was dead. He would stay that way.   
  
There was nobody left on the ship's interior, they’d all been dealt with one way or the other. It was eerily quiet aside from the sound of the ocean. She knew Elroy enough from Captain meetings in the past to know he’d be hoarding anything left on the ship before making a break for it. A greedy coward. He’d be one to the end if she had anything to do with it. It stood to reason he’d be at the forehold now, looking for any riches now the Captain's quarters was buried with the stern, Sarah started to move quicker inside the lopsided exposed hold of the ship, the hull creaking on either side of her. As she got closer to the entrance of the forehold, creaking turned to knocking, and then knocking turned to cracking. The half-ship shifted entirely as Pyke and the shark vastayan broke through the hull. A mess of blood and rope as the vastayan had Pyke by the neck, and Pyke had his blade stabbed into his shoulder and rope wrapped around his arm.   
  
The vastayan took Pyke further up the hold, away from the water. Walking right past Fortune she could see how the fight had managed to devolve into such a mess. The vastayan was huge, two and a half heads taller than Sarah, and that carried over to Pyke who she had realised seeing him grabbed as he was, didn’t have the height he seemed to that night. She didn’t have time to ponder that, or the odd feeling she had seeing the bloodharper ripper in actual danger. Something that should’ve been a boon to her as a Captain. As she heard a yelp and crashing in the forehold. Pyke must’ve heard it too, he met Sarah’s vision, ripped his blade from the collar of the beast-man and pointed to the forehold. Without the threat of the blade near his neck, the vastayan took his chance. Throwing Pyke against the pole of the foremast. Hard. Sarah heard something crack and seeing how he landed back first, she didn’t have to imagine hard for what it was, just wincing as she made to run towards the forehold's door. The vastayan moved quicker than her, blocking her path. Pyke hadn’t gone down without a fight, the shark-breed was covered in slashes and stab wounds from their time in the water. But even injured, Sarah wasn’t sure what bullets she had could finish the job. She took a step back, trying to widen the distance. The vastayan roared and lunged for her, but was held back by something before he could reach her, landing face first into the soaked floor of the hold.   
  
Pyke had picked himself up, somehow. His left arm was pulled back, rope wrapped around it and straining against the vastayan. His right arm was ruined, massive hunks of flesh ripped out by bite marks, the gaps filled by a ghostly mist instead of flesh and blood. His legs and body were not in a much better state. The crack she had heard by some miracle wasn’t his spine, instead the sea-beasts jaws adorning his shoulders had broken apart, he seemed somehow small against the vastayan without them. Somehow, through all the injuries, he was able to say with pure rage and command. “Get the Captain.” Sarah didn’t need to be told twice, moving quickly past the recovering vastayan with a blade in his back, and giving a small nod to Pyke who didn’t even look her way as she passed him. Red eyes focused solely on the rising shark-man.   
  


Pyke knew he was injured, he didn’t feel the pain, or realise the damage. But he knew something was wrong, his body was fighting him as much as his mind did. He didn’t need his other arm, he just needed his damn legs to move. Willed them to fix themselves, or whatever did the fixing. New flesh replacing the mist that filled the gaps. The half-breed reached behind his back and ripped the blade out, obviously not a critical blow. Pyke steadied himself on still-repairing legs, waiting for the right moment as the shark vastayan began charging at him again. As many times as Pyke had come back from what should be beyond fatal wounds, or even moments he’d felt like he died again to only wake up again in the deep ocean. There was someone else who would die here if he failed, and louder than that in his mind was the rageful screaming that Elroy would escape, his revenge would be foiled. Unacceptable.   
  
The vastayan got close enough. Snapping back to attention, Pyke dashed through him, turning to ghostwater and leaving a misty shadow. The shark-breed crashed into the mast, cracking it and shifting the ship once again. Then his shadow returned, crashing cursed water through the body of the vastayan, bringing him down to a knee. Pyke lunged back, roaring. Pyke stabbed his blade into the thick neck of the vastayan. He thrashed and bucked underneath him, Pyke's death grip on the butcher's blade the only thing keeping him there. Pulling himself closer, Pyke wrapped the rope around the bleeding neck of the shark man, pulling it taut. Bleeding from the blade, strangled by the rope, and still he struggled, slamming his back into the hull and further crushing Pyke with the impact. “Sleep, sleep, damn you!” The ripper hissed through his mask. Slowly, surely, the twisting and thrashing and slamming weakened. Then stopped. The vastayan brigand finally fell to the floor. Bled and butchered.  
  
On barely functioning legs and a single arm, the rest of his body struggling to repair itself, the Bloodharbor Ripper half dragged himself towards the forehold entrance.

Sure enough, Sarah found the wiry, greasy coward exactly where she knew she would. Coughing to draw his attention from shoving coins and jewels into a bag. He jumped seeing her, seeing his mens blood on her. “Hello James!” Sarah greeted him with the faux politeness of an old friend. Saccharine smirk on her face.   
  
“For-fortune, listen to me, we have to kill him! The ripper is mad!” His eyes were as shifty as they always were in Captains meetings, especially when his true loyalties were called into question. Sarah crouched to stare him down with cold disdain.  
  
“Almost as mad as someone who would swear that they’ve cut ties to Gangplank to my face, reaped the benefits of my trust then ran this little racket out of my sight, hm?”   
  
“You-you-you can punish me however you like, kill me if you want, I’m sorry, just PLEASE. Please don’t let him have me.” Elroy was quite skilled with faking crocodile tears of remorse, genuine cries of fear though, those were new. Sarah didn’t entirely dislike seeing them.   
  
“I’m having the funniest sense of deja-vu now, the funny thing is Mr. Ripper has been quite courteous to me so far. I just don’t see what’s so bad about him.” Sarah knew, she’d seen it just now, coming back from lethal injuries with a relentless rage. She’d seen the cruel, efficient signs of killing on the beach. She WANTED to give this rat over to that killer.  
  
“You don’t understand, he’s completely mad, I KNEW the chaps he’s been killing, they never did nothing to him. I found em carved up, left for chum. If you don’t kill him now Fortune, he’s gonna come for you eventually.” Elroy’s fear had turned cold, not panicked. He was purely, instinctively afraid of the being just outside the rotting wooden door behind Sarah. He also had a fair point. A point a part of Sarah told her to listen to, that he was right about the ripper. That she’d only benefit from killing him now, would even be rich from it. But there was another part, a part of her that remembered that he had spared her without reason, had saved her from something just as monstrous today. Even if he did it only to kill her himself, she wanted to see it through. Sarah thought to herself for a moment, then grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the door.  
  
“Please, please no. Why?” The rat was begging for his life, for an answer.  
  
“I’m considering it an investment.” Fortune said with a razors edge. James Elroy did not speak to her again, ending his begging with a whimper.

She opened the door to see Pyke in worse shape than she had left him. Waiting for his quarry. Sarah threw Elroy down in front of the killer. “All yours.” Sarah turned away from the carnage about to unfold, ignoring the screams as she headed back into the forehold.   
  
  


  
When Fortune came back out, Pyke was gone. So was Elroy, thankfully, she found some nice rum in her rummaging through the forehold and was sure whatever would be left of the traitor Captain would’ve turned her stomach. The vastayans body was still there, as were the cooling corpses of Gangplanks remnant followers outside. No sign of the mystery man on the shoreline, just the cold silence of a battlefield, broken only by the rustling of leaves and waves against what remained of the ship. Sarah made her way back towards where the Merry-Man was waiting. Sarah couldn’t help but smirk at the situation, too many times she’d seen a situation like this with reversed roles. Those faithful to her and her allies left butchered, it was a nice change of pace to see it now, even after a war to settle the score.

The Captain of the Merry-Man was idly fishing off the stern of his schooner, only giving Sarah a small wave upon seeing her approach and rest upon the shore. She was only a few swigs into her rum and beginning to count the small bag of riches she had helped herself when the waves shifted. A chill ran down her spine seeing Pyke emerge unscathed from the ocean, walking through the waves that seemed to calm around him towards her. Even the bone pauldrons had reformed on him, always looking as if they were about to snap shut over his head. There was no sign of the deadly fight he had been through on the shipwreck, completely renewed. Fortunes' jaw tensed, maybe Elroy was right about killing him there and then. The danger of the being before her properly setting in. The thrill of it had also kindled something within her, something she shoved down as he looked at her with vague distaste.   
  
“Robbing from the dead?” His question felt more like an accusation. Sarah threw on a cocky smile.  
  
“Is it better if I call it spoils of war?”   
  
“No. This wasn’t a war, just a killing.” Something in his eyes went distant at the words, tossing a small pouch into her lap. Sarah’s eyes widened seeing the contents, golden krakens, far more than Elroy was worth. Worth more than even all of the brigands she had killed today combined. Pyke must have seen the greed in her eyes, making a faint noise of disgust as he turned back towards the boat, pulling himself over the deck railings. Something in Sarah was pained at the noise, thinking she must’ve looked as greedy and desperate as those she had a vendetta against. She followed him back on board the ship just in time to see his scarred head go back below deck. The Captain had apparently realised his return as he began untying knots holding the boat to trees and preparing for departure. Sarah steeled herself for the confrontation and headed down into the hold after Pyke.  
  
The lantern was already lit, not for her, the ripper had it close to him using the light to inspect the edge of his blade. “What?” He didn’t look up at her, his attention only pulled from his weapon after she threw the pouch of krakens back at him. At that, he placed his blade down and met her stare. “That money ain’t good enough?”   
  
“I don’t want it, I want answers.”   
  
“Hmph, they won't appreciate having their gift thrown back in their face.” Pyke said as he pocketed the pouch of gold.   
  
“Then call it a trade, coin for answers.” She sat down opposite him, close enough to see the wariness in blue eyes. “For a start, who is _They_?”   
  
Pyke's eyes shifted, for barely a second but she saw it. “Nothing you’d know.” Evasive, but honest. Sarah settled a bit, thinking about what to ask, if she’d get any answers anyway. “How are you here? Alive I mean.”   
  
“I Ain’t alive. Ain’t sure what I am.” That sullen tone crept through his voice again. Shut out by simmering anger rising in his eyes, warning Sarah about the path she was treading.  
  
She pressed on with her questions anyway. “You know what I mean, you were ripped apart, next thing I know you’re all patched up and even got your fancy shoulder pads back.”

She must have hit a nerve, or whatever sore spots the ripper could have. He pulled back a bit, voice distant again. “Hell if I know…”  
  
She almost felt bad for him in that moment, before resting her chin on a hand and considering what she’d learned. “Seems pretty useful if you ask me, coming back from the dead is a nice trick…” No response, he wasn’t meeting her gaze anymore. Sarah decided to shift the subject “So what now, Elroy is dead, your little revenge list all cleared up?”   
  
Pyke coughed out what could’ve been a laugh, if not for how cold and ill-tempered it sounded. Renewing his standoffish stare. “List never gets shorter. Too many Captains, all need killin’.”  
  
A sharp panic ran through Sarah. “You’re telling me all the Captains in bilgewater are on that list of yours? That they all watched you drown on one ship?” Pyke froze, deathly still. Then stared back at her, nothing at all to indicate he was going to answer, if he even registered the question. “What about him then?” Sarah jerked a thumb upwards, towards the small schooners deaf Captain above deck. “He’s a Captain, seems alive enough to me.”.  
  
“He’s old and deaf, close enough to dyin’ without me, might as well use him” Pyke’s voice was cold, matter of fact. But Sarah could see a way into his flawed, broken logic.  
  
“So, there's exceptions to that list of yours?”   
  
“No exceptions. Just some higher than others. Everyone of them gets theirs, eventually.” Sarah backed down from the intense stare they were sharing, sighing through her nose and drinking from the rum bottle she carried a bit more greedily as the weight of his words sank in. She dreaded to imagine where she was on that list if, no, when he found out. Was her helping him enough to offset her importance as a Captain, or that she lied to him to save her own skin? She drowned her worries with booze. “Happy with your answers now? _Hunter_?” The last word was drawn out, freezing Sarah’s skin and praying he wasn’t as suspicious of her as she thought he might be.   
  
“For now.” She responded with faux indifference. They rested in the lantern light in silence from then. Sarah sat drinking her fear and trepidation away, Pyke inspecting phantom damages on his blade. The buzz of alcohol making the trip melt away, it didn’t feel like too long before Pyke broke the silence snapping Sarah from her booze haze. “We’re close.” Pyke stood and made for the hatch. Spurned by time, Sarah moved, standing on shaky legs and grabbing him by the shoulder, careful not to catch her hand on the sharp teeth. He stopped and stared at her with a low, warning glare.  
  
Fortune couldn’t tell why she stopped him, if she had a question it was lost in the alcohol. But she knew she didn’t want the ripper to leave yet, that he fascinated her, scared her, worried her. She spoke without thinking. “How do I find you again?”   
  
Pyke shrugged off her hand. “You don’t. Ever.” Warning hidden behind indifference. She stepped closer, close enough to look into unnatural ghostly blue eyes, her own jade ones lit by the glow from them. To feel the complete lack of warmth from his body.   
  
“Fine then, but I want a favour, as payment.” Her breath reeked of booze, but eyes were steady upon his.   
  
“I’m no killer for hire.” Sarah grit her teeth at the dismissal and disrespect laden on the words.   
  
“I don’t want you to kill someone, I want to see your face.” She softened her words, trying to draw him in a bit the best way she knew how. He was wary though, pulling back and narrowing his eyes a bit. “Can’t trust someone behind a mask.” Sarah forced a smile, a weak womanly smile that was very good at dropping guards, not Pykes apparently. He didn’t move at all, frozen before her. Sarah swallowed her fear, and reached her hands behind his head to undo the knot on his bandana. Pyke didn’t stop her, still didn’t move. She pulled away the cover and saw his face. Wide rugged features, scars flecked across his them, and a roughly square jaw gave him quite the hardened look. “Huh.” Was all she could manage to say.  
  
“Disappointed?” Pyke responded with a scowl, grabbing his bandana from her hands.  
  
“Not sure, was expecting something more… monstrous I suppose. Not handsome, anyway.” Pyke froze again at that, moreso when she leant into him, kissing his bare, scarred cheek and gently speaking into his ear. “That was for saving me from the big bad shark.” She pulled back and fought through the chill across her skin, warning her. She placed her lips upon his, ever so gently kissing them, barely enough to register just how cold his skin was, that it left the faint taste of saltwater against her lips. She pulled back and stared confidently into his eyes this time. “That was just for me. See you later, Mr. Ripper.”. Pyke stepped back from her, away from the hatch. Shock and wariness across hard features. Sarah smiled at him, and swaggered her way up through the hatch, making sure to rock her hips as she did so. Knowing he’d be watching.   
  
He was right, they were close, the slaughter docks only a few minutes out and clearly visible. Sarah spent the time making sure her bag of trinkets and coins taken as spoils was hidden tight in her cloak, that her weapons were reloaded and within reach. Trying desperately to focus on anything aside from her thundering heart. Whatever buzz she had been feeling from the alcohol was burned away by fiery adrenaline. She may have signed her own death warrant by engaging with the Ripper, might have done so the first night she encountered him. But the thrill of it, the danger of him was enough to drive her forward. She didn’t bother to look below deck to see if he was still there, sure he would’ve left in whatever magical way he did before. She placed a gold kraken firmly in the palm of the Captain, who gave her a teary eyed nod of appreciation. It would go much further for him that it would for her. Sarah hid her face deeper in the hood of her cloak as she returned home. Hiding her sheepish smile from any prying eyes.  
  
  


He wasn’t sure how long it had been. He came back to awareness in the ocean. No sign of the boat surrounding him, of her. He brushed his fingers over his lips, the phantom feel of her still there. The faint echo of warmth she had shared. Visions of jade eyes, a freckled round face and fiery red hair were scattered in his violent thoughts, pushing through to the front of his psyche before being pushed back down by something else. Something outside. That phantom touch of hers fleeted away by hatred pressing down upon him. The killing urge renewed with a vague direction somewhere else. Somewhere far from her. But below that, he wanted to feel it again. The water embraced him, phased him into itself. Feel her. His mind scattered into the saltwater. Feel more. He was losing himself again, becoming nothing but the deep sea.

Feel anything again.


End file.
